The Magnificent Century: The Sultana's Concubine
by RichardJ
Summary: May 1538. Sultan Suleiman I, ruler of the Ottoman Empire, and his 16 year old daughter, Mihrimah, are making a tour of the Empire's northern borders. The acquisition of a new maid for Mihrimah proves fortunate when traitors lead the royal party into an ambush. Both Mihrimah and her new maid gain reputations that will make them formidable women in their own separate worlds.
1. The gift

May 1538. Sultan Suleiman I, ruler of the Ottoman Empire, and his 16 year old daughter, Mihrimah, stop for the night in the fortified town of Chilia in southern Bessarabia, near the western shores of the Black Sea. The local Bey arranges a small dinner party for his royal guests.

1\. The gift

"You and your daughter honour us greatly, your highness," says my father nervously to the imposing figure of his highness, Sultan Suleiman Khan.

I wait at the side of the room with my mother and younger sister, Stefanka. I know my mother would rather not be here, and my sister is too young to understand the danger. This royal visit was announced as a goodwill tour, but I know there are huge political undertones. The Grand Vizier in Constantinople is far from pleased at the failure of my father to placate the growing unrest in southern Bessarabia.

I sympathize with my father's plight. He is responsible for protecting the Empire's borders in this province, and the source of the unrest comes from Moldavia, across our borders to the north-west. The Moldavian ruler, Peter IV Rareş, is once again being a fickle ally to the Ottoman Empire. For years he has relied on Ottoman protection from the Austrian Empire to the west, and the Kingdom of Poland to the north. However, more recently, he has aided Arch-duke Ferdinand of Austria against Ottoman interests. And now Rareş is trying to seize this province as part of his territory by reviving claims that all of southern Bessarabia is part of Moldavia. The Sultan's presence here is a clear signal to the local population that Rareş will not be allowed to expand his realm without a fight.

The Sultan shows no outward sign of his feelings about my father's management of the crisis. He is polite without being overly friendly or hostile. His daughter, the Sultana, is equally polite. As a woman, she is not expected to involve herself in politics, but as soon as I see her, I know she is very aware of the political situation. We bow our heads and curtsy as the Sultan and his daughter walk towards us.

"My wife, Isabella and daughters Nilüfer and Stefanka," says my father as soon as he realises the Sultan is expecting an introduction to us.

The six of us sit on cushions around a low table while the food is served. This is a new experience for Stefanka and I, as we normally take our meals European style, sat on chairs at a high table. But the tradition in Constantinople is to have meals at a low table, and my father isn't feeling secure enough in his position to risk any slight against the Sultan.

Despite the serious political situation, the dinner conversation is pleasant and varied. I learn that the Sultan is a skilled jeweller and he has personally made the gorgeous emerald ring currently adorning his daughter's finger. Like a good daughter, I refrain from entering into the conversation until Mihrimah asks me a question.

"I like the way you do your hair, Nilüfer. Do you style it by yourself?"

"Yes, my Sultana," I reply, fortunately remembering the correct formal address for a female member of the Ottoman dynasty.

"Nilüfer has quite a talent with hair, my Sultana," says father. "She will happily show your maid some of her tricks."

"Alas, Mihrimah's maid proved to be too timid a girl to endure the challenges of our tour," says the Sultan. "We sent her back to Constantinople only this morning. I was going to ask you for the loan of one of your servants to attend to Mihrimah's personal needs."

"I would be honoured if you would accept Nilüfer's services for as long as you need them, my Sultana," says my father.

I notice I don't get asked about the subject, and I'm not certain father intended for my term of service to include leaving our family home and joining the royal party on their tour. Whatever my father really meant doesn't alter the life changing events that follow. By the following afternoon legal documents have been signed and I'm now a concubine of the Imperial Harem of Sultan Suleiman. I've been gifted away as a slave. An act which at least proves my father's fealty to the Sultan, and secures my father's shaky position as Bey for a while longer. He gets another chance at restoring peace in our region.

I could complain about the loss of my freedom, but I've known for years that my freedom only existed on paper. In another year, if not less, a marriage would have been arranged for me. Most likely to a wealthy merchant or teacher. Someone much older than I, who is financially secure and looking for a nubile young bride to provide him with heirs. At least this way I get to see some of the world and a chance for some adventure.

The royal party leaves Chilia two days later with the Sultana's new maid in tow. I overhear that our destination is to be the Black Sea port of Akkerman, three days travel to the north. My family farewells are tearful but I'm over my initial shock. To be honest, I'm looking forward to my new life. I'm not allowed to bring more than a few personal possessions. My mother's small locket, now around my neck, provides my only tangible memento of my parents and sister.

I travel on the baggage wagon with two of the Sultan's male servants. We trundle along at the rear of the royal train, which consists of forty advisers, servants and soldiers, as well as the royal pair riding near the front of the column. A couple of local men hired by one of the Sultan's advisers act as guides. Some advisers and servants are well armed and look capable of assisting the soldiers … members of the famed Janissaries … in the event of an ambush. I hope for my father's sake that no ambush occurs within the borders of his province.

Each time we stop I'm expected to run to the front of the train to attend to any of Mihrimah's needs. It's an unsatisfactory arrangement for both of us. An arrangement brought about by my predecessor's inability to ride a horse. But I'm not limited in that way. As soon as I mention that I can ride a horse, I'm promptly assigned a mount and thereafter ride near the front of the column. It's a more dangerous position in the event of an ambush, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

On the second morning after leaving Chilia, we turn off the road to Akkerman and head north-west towards Moldavia. I'm not told the reason why the Sultan has chosen to do this. Even though Moldavia is technically an ally, an incursion into Rareş' territory is fraught with danger. To expose the Sultan in this way strikes me as foolhardy. But nobody asks for my opinion.

We follow the narrow track for most of the day before reaching the road linking Palada and Akkerman. To my surprise we turn west towards Palada before stopping for the night at a small village. The villagers are nervous about our presence and are reluctant to do more than offer the most basic of assistance. Mihrimah and I are billeted with a widow who lives in a small cottage in the centre of the village. The Sultan has accommodation at the nearby local inn. Two Janissaries are assigned to stand guard over our billet.

"You look worried, Nilüfer," says Mihrimah as I brush her hair before bed. "What is troubling you?"

"Forgive me, my Sultana," I reply. "It is not my place to question the decisions of my betters. But why have we crossed into Moldavia? Our party isn't large enough to deter an attack from the garrison at Palada once they get word of our presence."

"Moldavia! We are supposed to be six leagues inside Ottoman territory. Are you sure, Nilüfer?"

"Yes, my Sultana," I reply. "I travelled with my father as far as this village when the Empire last offered military support to Rareş. That was four years ago. Our relations with Rareş have deteriorated a great deal since then. Ask the widow if you don't believe me."

Mihrimah doesn't waste time trying to locate the widow, whom we haven't seen for over an hour. Instead she summons one of the Janissaries standing outside the cottage. An agonising twenty minutes passes before a knock on the door to our billet tells us Sultan Suleiman has arrived in response to Mihrimah's request for an audience with her father.

"What troubles you so much that you need to see me tonight, Mihrimah?" asks the Sultan.

"Nilüfer has informed me that this village is inside the borders of Moldavia, papa," says Mihrimah. "You told me the other day that you did not intend to cross the Empire's borders. I was wondering why you have changed your mind?"

The Sultan doesn't immediately answer Mihrimah's question. Instead he goes to the door and talks to one of the Janissaries standing guard. The soldier promptly leaves on whatever errand he has been given.

"There is nothing for you to worry about, my daughter. We shall ask one of the villagers."

Fifteen minutes later the whole party is on alert. All the villagers have slipped away in the dark and our two local guides have gone missing. As the only person left in the party with any local knowledge, my role is suddenly elevated from maid to guide.

"How far away is the border, Nilüfer?" asks the Sultan.

"We entered Moldavia when we crossed the small river just before midday, your highness," I reply. "The border is slightly farther away if we follow the road east towards Akkerman."

"It's too risky to travel that far in the dark," decides the Sultan. "We shall wait here until dawn, and then retrace our steps to the border. Everyone needs to be ready to leave at first light."

"Allow me to send a fast rider to Chilia tonight to notify the Bey of our situation," says the Janissary commander. "He can send reinforcements to meet us in case we need help."

The Sultan agrees and a message is sent to my father to muster his troops and march towards the border. Whether my father's troops can arrive in time to help us depends on how quickly the Moldavian garrison at Palada can react, and what action they take.

I try to emulate the outwardly calm behaviour of the Sultan and his daughter. The situation is dangerous, but not hopeless. We must assume that the local guides were traitors and have steered us into a trap. But the absence of an attack before now suggests the Moldavian garrison at Palada is not in a position to take immediate advantage of the situation.

While outwardly calm, I can tell Mihrimah is worried. She keeps twisting the emerald ring around her finger. The Sultan sees her nervousness.

"Always remember you are a member of the Ottoman dynasty, Mihrimah," says the Sultan, taking hold of her hands. "Let the emerald ring on your finger always remind you of your heritage. The blood of ten Ottoman Sultans flows through your veins. Be brave; be strong; and the people will follow you."


	2. A dangerous journey

2\. A dangerous journey

The whole party is assembled for safety at the local inn and its outbuildings. A few Janissaries are assigned as pickets to watch for the arrival of Moldavian troops. Somehow Mihrimah and I manage to snatch a few hours sleep amid the crowd in the upper rooms of the inn.

Dawn arrives and we are all ready to depart. The pickets are recalled and a small advance scouting party is sent ahead of the main party to check the way ahead is clear. Mihrimah draws up beside me as I wait on my horse for the order to begin our journey. She hands me a small dagger.

"Keep this safe in case you need it," says Mihrimah.

"I don't think I will be able to fend off an attacker with this," I say.

"It's not for that. It's in case you are trapped and at risk of capture. You know what fate awaits you if you fall into the wrong hands."

I nod in response and tuck the dagger in my belt. I've lived all my life on the border of the Empire. I've heard enough sorry tales of raiders and the fate of captured maidens. The order to begin our journey is given and Mihrimah moves forward to ride beside her father.

The first half of our journey towards the border is uneventful. We leave the road from Palada to Akkerman and follow the track that will bring us to the Chilia to Akkerman road. The weather is fine and in other circumstances I would enjoy the scenery. At one point our route requires us to travel through a short narrow gully between some low hills. I'm not the only one who senses this spot is an ideal place for an ambush. However the scouts report the way ahead is clear and we enter the gully with only minimal additional preparations for our defence.

In the event of an attack, my orders are to move to the back of the column with the other servants. Theoretically this places the non-combatants out of harms way, while the soldiers protect the Sultan and Mihrimah. This strategy works fine if the attack comes from the front. However, when the ambush is sprung, the attack comes from the rear. The two servants who had been my travelling companions on the baggage wagon at the rear of the column are the first to die.

The tactics of the ambushers also divides our column. The Janissaries and armed servants near the rear of the train turn to face our assailants, while those at the front rally around the Sultan. The Janissary commander urges the Sultan to flee clear of the gully with a small contingent of Janissaries, while the remainder deal with the attackers. The Sultan accepts the commander's advice. In the absence of orders to the contrary, I follow the group escorting the Sultan and Mihrimah to what we hope is safety.

There are eight of us in our group as we gallop through the winding gully. The Sultan and Mihrimah are flanked by four Janissaries. One of the Sultan's advisers and I follow close behind. The gully gradually widens and the end can't be far away. Then we see them. Ten soldiers wearing Moldavian uniforms are encamped near the road. I don't know if the Moldavians expected the Sultan to flee the mêlée, or whether they are simply here to catch anyone who escaped the ambush. Either way the gully is still too narrow for us to go around them. Our only hope is to ride through them before they can mount their horses and prevent our escape.

The Moldavian soldiers have seen us and are scrambling for their weapons and mounts. The Sultan doesn't hesitate and orders everyone to ride like the wind. The Sultan and his Janissaries draw their swords and let out blood-curdling shouts as we charge. I draw close to Mihrimah as she rides slightly behind her father. The adviser who had been beside me moves further behind us. Three of the Moldavians are armed with bows and their first arrows fly near us while we are still twenty metres from their position.

Seconds later we crash into their still disorganised line. Half of the Moldavians are mounted and fully prepared for our charge, while three remain on foot armed with bows and arrows. The clash of swords is brief and bloody. The two unprepared Moldavians are quickly cut down and the superior skill of the Janissaries soon takes its toll on the Moldavian soldiers. In no time we have broken through their line and are galloping south-east. I risk a look behind me as we flee. The remaining Moldavians show no sign of giving chase, although a few desultory arrows are loosed in our direction as we ride out of range.

When we finally stop to tend to our wounded we realise the Sultan's adviser is no longer with us. One of the Janissaries reports that he saw the man felled by two arrows at the height of the battle. It appears the bowmen were unable to fire into the mêlée for fear of hitting their own men, so targeted the adviser who was some distance behind us.

Two of the Janissaries sport sword cuts and Mihrimah and I help bandage their wounds. While we are doing so, the Sultan comes over to us.

"You both showed extraordinary courage just now," says the Sultan to Mihrimah and I. "You are both a credit to your fathers."

Mihrimah almost burst into tears at the praise her father has heaped on her. As for me, I doubt my father will ever hear of what has just happened. But if the Sultan's pleasure at my deeds means my father's position as local Bey is all the more secure, then I'm happy.

Unfortunately we are not yet out of danger. We are still a good hour's ride from the nearest village on the other side of the border. We could wait to see if any of our main party has been able to break free of the ambush, but doing so will give the Moldavians time to gather more troops. The Sultan decides that we must continue our journey alone.

One of the wounded Janissaries is unable to brandish his sword, so Mihrimah takes his sword and sheath and straps it around her waist. She looks the part of a warrior princess although I know that, unlike her brothers, she will have received no weapons training at all. On impulse I pick up fallen branch and quickly strip it of twigs and leaves, giving me a short staff with which to defend myself. I haven't mentioned to anyone here that my father ensured I received some training in the use of a staff. A product of the fortunes, or misfortunes, of having no brothers. Denied sons, my father treated his eldest daughter as an honorary boy when it came to some manly skills. However, I'm not certain how well such news will be received here. I don't want to jeopardise my new role as Mihrimah's maid.

We continue our journey at a canter. One Janissary acts as a scout and the wounded man watches our rear. After about forty minutes we reach the small river that marks the border between the Empire and Moldavia. Normally we would be safe once we cross the river, but with such a rich prize within reach, it's likely the Moldavian soldiers will continue their pursuit until we reach the safety of the nearest village. We ford the river and regroup on the far bank of the river. Suddenly we hear the sound of horses coming south through the woods on the Moldavian side of the river. It's the wrong direction for it to be the rest of our column. They must be Moldavian soldiers sent to cut the road at the border.

Recognising our mounts need a few moments rest, the Sultan orders us to hide in the trees so we can observe the approaching riders without being seen ourselves. We only need to wait a few minutes before we see the riders. My heart sinks when I recognise the Moldavian uniforms and the large size of the group. Over forty well armed horsemen lead by a man wearing full armour.

"That's the Duke of Jassy's banner," I say to nobody in particular.

"If he crosses into my territory then his life is forfeit," says the Sultan.

I presume the Sultan means to take his revenge at a later date, since the chances of our small party scoring a victory against that many soldiers are negligible. For the moment the Duke's soldiers are hesitating on their side of the river. Then the Duke gives an order and he and his men start to cross the river. It is the signal for our small party to continue our flight south.

"My father keeps a garrison at the old fort on the hilltop to the north," I say when we reach the Chilia to Akkerman road.

The fort is slightly farther away than the nearest village along the road to the south, but it offers better protection. Providing, that is, my father's garrison is still there. The Sultan doesn't acknowledge my advice but immediately takes the road north that leads us towards the fort. We can hear the sound of horses behind us. When we left the river we had little more than a minute's head start. Some of our pursuers must be on fast horses because the gap between us is closing.

Ten minutes later we leave the main road and follow the track which climbs towards the fort at the summit of the hill. I breath a sigh of relief when I see the banner flying from the fort. The garrison is still there. From their vantage point, the sentries must be able to see both us and our pursuers. I can hear the alarm being sounded. Safety is only a few moments away.

We halt at the gates to the fort. The garrison commander isn't about to open the fort gates to unidentified visitors. With our pursuers close behind us, this delay could be fatal.

"I am Sultan Suleiman," shouts the Sultan. "Open your gates and let us in."

The garrison commander hesitates. He probably cannot believe the mighty Sultan of the Ottoman Empire is riding so close to the border with such a small party.

"I am Nilüfer, daughter of the Bey. Open your gates or you will answer to my father," I cry.

We have no means of knowing whether my outburst sways the dithering commander, but the gates are opened and we gallop into the safety of the fort. Unfortunately our relief is short lived. The garrison consists of only sixteen men. From the look of them, these men are hardly the cream of my father's troops.

"Forgive me your highness," says the commander as we dismount. "The Bey had a report from the local tax collector not long after you departed. He said that your party was being guided by suspected Moldavian spies. Unfortunately we thought you had already passed this fort. The Bey ordered most of our men to muster at the next fort to the north to search for you. We didn't know you were still in this area."

Further discussion is cut short when a cry from the sentries on the battlements alerts us to the arrival of the Duke of Jassy and his men.


	3. Legends are born

3\. Legends are born

Mihrimah and I are ordered to shelter in the commander's quarters with the wounded Janissary to guard us. Had the garrison been up to full muster, we would hold the upper hand. Unfortunately my father's sixteen soldiers, supported by the Sultan and three Janissaries are outnumbered two to one by the Duke's force. But the walls are strong and time is hopefully on our side. The Duke's force cannot risk a prolonged siege and they lack the cannon needed to breech the fort's walls.

The afternoon passes uneventfully. The fort has provisions and water for several weeks, so we have no fears of being starved into surrender. The men of the garrison are rested in shifts. Although I'm not permitted to leave this room, we at least hear enough news to know the Moldavians are still outside our walls, but don't seem to be in a rush to attack. The Sultan joins Mihrimah and I just before it goes dark.

"The Moldavians may attempt a night assault," he says. "They don't know the strength of the garrison, although our failure to attack means they will suspect it isn't at full strength. They may try to sneak men over our walls and open the gates for their main force. Stay in here and try to remain calm."

The Sultan's assessment of the Moldavian's likely tactics proves accurate almost to the last detail. At about 10 o'clock that night an alarm is raised. The small garrison isn't large enough to station men at every point along the walls. The Duke's men have identified a weak spot and managed to sneak a dozen men over the walls. A skirmish near the gates has the garrison to arms and a fierce battle breaks out.

The fight draws most of the defenders to the gate. Mihrimah and I are left isolated with our solitary injured Janissary for protection. A second group of six Moldavians take advantage of the confusion and starts ransacking the buildings near ours. Any moment now they will discover us. I grab my staff and Mihrimah hands the Janissary his sword. The wound to his sword arm is too severe for him to use his weapon in that hand so he transfers the sword to his other hand. Mihrimah takes down the sword hanging on the wall of the commander's office. The sword is probably too heavy for her to use effectively, even if she knew how to wield it. But she at least holds it as though she knows what she's doing.

We wait nervously and for a while it seems the men won't reach this far. The defenders at the gate are gaining the upper hand and the Moldavians near us are called to support their colleagues. But two men don't obey and continue to ransack the buildings. They are clearly more interested in loot than being Moldavian heroes.

The inevitable happens and the two men burst into our room. The Janissary charges at once and manages to fell one of the Moldavians with a single blow. But the other Moldavian parries the second blow and his counter-attack kills our protector. Now it is one trained soldier against two young girls.

"The ring, girl," says the soldier pointing to Mihrimah's emerald ring. "Give me the ring and I'll leave you unharmed."

"Never!" replies Mihrimah with a fierceness I haven't seen in her before.

I don't think her father will approve of her endangering her life for the sake of a jewel. But nobody is interested in my opinion, so it looks as though the dice is cast. The soldier advances towards us and I step in front of Mihrimah with my staff in position.

Soldiers trained in the use of steel weapons often under-estimate the potency of a wooden staff when used skilfully. At least that is what my father told me. I'm about to find out whether he is right. I don't claim to be an expert in fighting with a staff, but I know a few good moves.

This soldier almost laughs as he advances towards me. He swings his sword in an attempt to cut my staff in two. It is his first and last mistake. I easily deflect his blow and jab the point of my staff at the bridge of his nose. I hit him right between the eyes and stun him.

Mihrimah has been far from a passive observer and quickly thrusts her sword into the soldier's chest while he is dazed from my blow. He goes down with a crash. It is at this moment that the door bursts open to reveal the Sultan and a Janissary. They have belatedly come to rescue us. The sight of the Sultan looking at his daughter while she still holds her sword buried in the soldier's chest is how legends are made. In this case two legends are born. The first of a warrior princess, and the second of an emerald ring through which the wisdom and strength of ten mighty Sultans embraces a worthy wearer of the ring. It will be some years before the legends reach their final form. By then each legend is embellished with half-truths and wishful thinking. Neither legend is entirely true, but then, what legend ever is. But I am getting ahead of myself.

As for my part in the battle, I'm grateful Mihrimah makes no mention to the Sultan of my skill with a staff. I'm not certain how well I would be received into the harem of the Imperial Palace if my fighting skills became generally known. It remains a secret between Mihrimah and I and provides the beginnings of a bond of friendship between us.

Both father and daughter are relieved that the other is safe, but we are not yet out of danger. All eighteen Moldavians who had scaled the walls are dead. But the cost to the defenders is high. Nine of my father's soldiers are dead, or wounded to the extent they are unable to fight. Fortunately the Duke waiting in vain outside the gate with the other half of his force has no idea of our casualties or how desperate our situation has become. We no longer have sufficient numbers to patrol the walls, let alone allow anyone time to rest.

But the Sultan is an able commander and by the simple trick of stuffing the dead soldiers uniforms with straw, we are able to make it look as though are walls are fully manned. It's a trick which won't fool anyone in daylight, but at night it may deter a second attack.

Mihrimah and I are allowed out of the room and we busy ourselves tending to the wounded. This is another skill my father thought appropriate for me to learn. Living close to the border has meant skirmishes are a regular feature of life, and skill at tending to the wounded a much valued asset.

Despite our plight we are in good spirits when dawn arrives. The Sultan's ruse with the straw filled sentries has achieved its goal, and no further assault is attempted on our walls. The dummy sentries are removed before daylight and real men stand in their place. Mihrimah and I even offer to don the helmet and breastplate of a garrison soldier, but the Sultan refuses point blank to place us in danger upon the walls.

The Duke of Jassy hesitates to attack. His force has been greatly diminished and he is facing an enemy of unknown strength. He is also well inside Ottoman territory, and he can expect no mercy if he is captured. At nine o'clock the matter is decided for him. A column of sixty foot soldiers wearing the unmistakable uniform of my father's soldiers is seen approaching along the road to the fort. The Duke and his men retreat through the woods in great haste. By the time the column reaches us, the Duke and his men are long gone.

The young commander of the column is treated as a hero by the surviving members of the garrison, even though his presence here is simply to replenish the garrison for the troops sent further north two days before. The presence of the Sultan and the remains of his party take the commander by surprise. But the Sultan is generous in his praise and I'm pleased that my father's actions have helped achieve a happy ending.

Four days later Mihrimah and I board a ship bound for Constantinople. The Sultan has ordered his army to prepare for a campaign into Moldavia, with the intention of removing the head of the Duke of Jassy, and reminding Rareş where his loyalties should lie. Mihrimah and her new maid are not allowed to be a part of that campaign, but I sense this won't be the last time Mihrimah travels the Empire with her father. I'm determined to make sure I'll be the one she selects as her personal maid on such ventures.

For the sake of morale, no official mention is made of the Sultan's narrow escape from disaster. Mihrimah and I are forbidden to mention anything about our adventures to those back in Constantinople, although I can't help feel the truth will find a way of coming out. In reality only six of us out of a party of forty escaped alive. Something that prompts the Sultan to make a swift and punitive campaign into Moldavia.

As for me, I'm content with my new life. I've seen more adventure and excitement in the last week than ever before, and I'm glad I did not disgrace my father by my behaviour.

"I haven't said how grateful I am for your selfless actions in protecting me at the fort," says Mihrimah as I prepare her for her first night's sleep on board the Constantinople-bound ship. "Name your reward."

"The only reward I wish is to serve you, my Sultana," I reply.

Without knowing it I have given the correct answer to her question. It was not until weeks later, after I had been formally inducted into the Imperial Harem, that I was taught that the highest reward a slave can wish for is to serve the Sultan, or a member of the dynasty, in a personal capacity. Had I requested any other reward, it would have been honoured, but my future role as personal maid to Mihrimah Sultan would have been jeopardised.

Once the Sultana is asleep I go to my cot and settle down for the night. I lie awake for a while, wondering what life awaits me in Constantinople. Not once do I regret my father's decision to gift me to the Sultan's harem. My only nervousness is the prospect of meeting Mihrimah's mother, the indomitable Hürrem Sultan herself. Is she a sorceress who bewitches the Sultan, as some rumours say, or is she like I wish to be, a slave who has brushed shoulders with the powerful elite of the Ottoman Empire and proved herself worthy.


	4. Harem

4\. Harem.

It's mid-afternoon when we arrive at the Imperial Palace in Constantinople. Our coach from the dockside is met by three men from the harem. I later learn that they are agas; eunuchs whose role is to keep the peace inside the harem, as well as act as messengers and escorts between the main palace and the harem. Mihrimah tells the nearest aga who I am, and leaves me in his care. She then heads off into the maze of buildings with two of the agas in tow.

"Come with me, Nilüfer," says the remaining aga.

He takes me inside the nearest building and through a series of corridors. Finally we reach a pair of strong wooden doors guarded by two armed men. I'm left in no doubt that this is the main entrance to the Imperial Harem. One of the guards opens a door just wide enough to allow the aga and I to go through. The door closes behind us with a thud.

I didn't have any particular expectations of what would happen when Mihrimah and I reached Constantinople. For the first few days, I'm kept well clear of the royal wing of the harem, where all the female members of the Ottoman dynasty have their private suites. I'm allocated a sleeping space among thirty or so other girls living in one of the sections of the harem. Apparently there are many more women living in other sections. This area seems to be reserved for young women who are around my age.

I attend lessons each day and try my best to settle into the communal life of the harem. It's very different from what I've previously experienced, but I've no option but to adapt. As in any large group of girls there are occasional arguments and fights. The agas usually step in quickly before anything serious happens, and punishments are mercifully few. However, any punishment is administered in full view of the harem, both to humiliate the offender and as a warning to others.

Gossip is another abundant feature of life in the harem. To be honest, most of the gossip is harmless tittle tattle, but occasionally it unearths something of importance. At least, important to a large group of girls who's only meaning in life is to sit around and look pretty. Boredom is our biggest enemy, and it's frequently the root cause of many of the fights. This life is so different from my life back in Chilia.

Through the abundant gossip I learn more about Mihrimah's mother, Hürrem Sultan, and her nemesis, Mahidevran Sultan. Both have sons, one of whom will eventually become the next sultan, elevating his mother to the prized status of Valide. The Valide is the sultan's "queen" and she's the undisputed ruler of the Imperial Harem. It's the highest official position a woman can achieve in the Ottoman empire. But it's a winner takes all situation. For one son and his mother lies power and prestige; for the others, it's execution for the sons, and a life in obscurity for the mother.

Mihrimah is in a different situation. She faces the likelihood of an arranged marriage, much like the prospect I faced before my father made a gift of me to the Sultan. For Mihrimah, her marriage won't be to some foreign king or prince, but to a powerful pasha within the Ottoman empire. Such a marriage would cement the political position of her husband, and ensure his continued loyalty to the Ottoman dynasty. Unfortunately becoming a powerful pasha takes years of effort, so Mihrimah's husband is likely to be much older than she.

However, as a blood relative of Sultan Suleiman, Mihrimah will enjoy considerable freedom of movement even after her marriage. She also retains the right to divorce her husband. Marriage to a royal princess is a double edged sword for the pasha. On one hand he gains power and influence, but on the other, he can't afford for his bride to divorce him, since it would spell his political ruin.

Although Mahidevran lives with her son in a distant province, I soon discover that she has many spies inside the Imperial Harem. These spies keep Mahidevran well informed, as well as promoting her interests when the opportunity arises. Since the interests of Mahidevran are usually at odds with the those of Hürrem, there is no love lost between them or their respective supporters.

Although my arrival in the harem coincided with Mihrimah's return from Bessarabia, none of the girls have made any deeper connection between Mihrimah and I. As far as they are concerned, I'm simply a slave acquired on the Sultan's travels; given as a token of my father's loyalty to the empire. I've done nothing to pretend otherwise, since I'm no longer certain whether I'm to become Mihrimah's maid. My induction into the harem continues for several weeks.

Then rumours start to spread that I'm to replace one of Mihrimah's three personal maids. The timid maid I replaced when the royal party was in Chilia has been dismissed from Mihrimah's service and she's moved back into the main harem. It follows that Mihrimah will be looking for a new maid, and I'm one of those who, rumour says, is being considered. Suddenly I'm exposed to the influence and power of Mahidevran's clique within the harem. Our communal life means there are few secrets in the harem, so their identities are more or less common knowledge. It's just that they've ignored me until now. Even the sultanas who only visit the Imperial Palace infrequently have their favourites within the harem. Those girls periodically receive small gifts or special treats, and in return, keep their benefactor well informed of palace intrigue. Hürrem has her personal supporters, as does Mihrimah, although hers are fewer in number. Personal maids are usually drawn from the sultana's supporters, although not always. It seems as though the girl I'm to replace is secretly one of Mahidevran's clique, which is subtly ... or perhaps not so subtly ... trying to recruit me.

The rumours about my appointment prove to be true. When Mihrimah summons me to her room I feel I have learned all I need to know about the political intrigues surrounding the imperial family. As I soon discover, the harem gossip provides only a tiny fraction of knowledge about what is happening inside and outside the Imperial Palace.

"I presume you've been approached by some of the girls loyal to Mahidevran," says Mihrimah. A statement rather than a question. "Gülshan was not very bright, nor very brave, but she was a useful channel to feed information to Mahidevran."

Given the animosity between them, I suspect Mihrimah really means **mis** information.

"Err ... Yes, my Sultana," I reply. "But I refused to join their number. Did I do the right thing?"

"Yes," replies Mihrimah. "You are inexperienced in handling palace intrigue, so you would soon find yourself in difficulty. My mother and I have other channels which we can use to keep Mahidevran amused."

I'm uncertain what reply I should give to Mihrimah's comments. Fortunately I'm saved from having to decide by the arrival of another of Mihrimah's maids.

"Nira. Show Nilüfer where she is to sleep and help her get settled," says Mihrimah. "Then the pair of you can prepare the rooms for a visit from my mother. I'm expecting her to call on us this afternoon when she returns from the main palace."

Nira takes me to a small windowless room just inside the entrance to Mihrimah's suite. It's just large enough for three narrow mattresses to be laid out side by side. As in the main harem, the mattresses are placed into a low wide cupboard during the day. Our bedding and nightwear are placed in the wooden trunk at the foot of each maid's allocated sleeping area. The trunks also serves as a chest for clothes and personal belongings. Above the mattress cupboard is a second cupboard which stores a water jug and cups, together with a few morsels of food, saved in case our duties mean we need to go a long time between meals. Serving a sultana, Nira tells me, is a 24 hour job, and a maid's personal needs like sleep, eating and ablutions need to be fitted in when the opportunity arises.

I'm ready to begin my duties by the time the third maid in our group, Ayşe, returns from whatever task she been doing. Both Nira and Ayşe seem friendly enough, although both are clearly surprised that I've been elevated to this coveted position so soon after arriving in the harem. Even among slaves there is a pecking order. I'm allocated the space by the door. I suspect this means I'll be the first to be called if Mihrimah needs something in the night.

With my new appointment comes an increase in my daily stipend, and a small set of new clothes. My own clothes, which I brought with me from Bessarabia, were discarded as soon as I arrived in the Imperial Harem. Since then I've been wearing the loose fitting trousers, waistcoat and top provided to those girls who can't afford to buy their own clothes from their tiny daily stipend. My current clothes are effectively the harem uniform. But such simple attire is unsuitable for maids living in the royal wing of the harem, where colourful satins and silks are the rule.

Despite all the preparations neither Mihrimah nor her maids feel ready when Hürrem Sultan comes to call. Mihrimah greets her mother politely and with a hint of genuine affection. It's nothing like the emotional greeting I would give my mother should I ever be fortunate enough to see her again. I silently remind myself that these two women control the lives of hundreds of women and girls.

"Let me have a good look at your new maid," says Hürrem Sultan after she and Mihrimah have been talking for a while. Nira, Ayşe and I have been standing quietly along one wall of the room, next to the two maids who arrived with Hürrem. Each of us ready to attend to any whim of her sultana. Mihrimah signals for me to step forward and suddenly I feel the pressure of six pairs of eyes studying me intently. I resist the temptation to fidget. I'm still not comfortable with my new attire, which shows far too much flesh for my tastes. I'd die of embarrassment if a man saw me dressed like this. Fortunately that's not likely to happen.

"So this is Nilüfer," observes Hürrem. "Harmless enough at first sight. She seems nervous. I hope you have chosen wisely, Mihrimah."

"I have, mother," replies Mihrimah. "Your illustrious presence would make any new girl nervous."

"You'll need to overcome that, Nilüfer," says Hürrem addressing me directly. "I'm trusting you with my only daughter's well being. Your duties will take you into the company of many influential women, not all of them are friends. Some may even be secretly working against the interests of the Ottoman dynasty."

"Yes, my Sultana," I reply, hoping that I'm expected to answer. The penalty for speaking out of turn to a sultana doesn't bear thinking about. "I shall serve Mihrimah Sultan faithfully and to the best of my abilities."

"Hmmm ... Make sure you do," replies Hürrem. "I'd not be able to find it in my heart to forgive anybody who failed to protect my daughter when they could. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, my Sultana," I reply, realising that I'm being expected to be Mihrimah's bodyguard and well as her body slave. "I shall protect Mihrimah Sultan. With my life if necessary."

There is a collective gasp from the other four maids. What I have promised goes well beyond the services and loyalty a harem girl is expected to provide. But I don't fool myself into believing there was any other reason for my appointment to this position. There are many girls who can serve as a maid, but very few who can fell a man with nothing more sinister than a big stick.

The audience draws to a close and Hürrem and her two maids return to their suite. Mihrimah busies herself with correspondence while Nira, Ayşe and I tidy up.

"Are you crazy?" asks Ayşe when the three of us are in our tiny room preparing for bed. "Hürrem Sultan and our sultana have many enemies within the palace and city. Neither sultana expected you to promise what you did. "

"Yes they did," I reply. "It's why I was chosen to join you here."

I've no idea what dangers await, or my ability to deal with them, but at least it will mean that I'm likely to be away from the tedium of the main harem.


	5. A suitor's pursuit

5\. A suitor's pursuit.

Constantinople, August 1538.

Fresh news arrived today of Sultan Suleiman's military campaign in Moldavia. The reports say the campaign is progressing well, with the sultan's army achieving a succession of minor victories over the forces of the Moldavian ruler, Peter IV Rareş. The Moldavians have apparently retreated behind their fortifications and are now under siege. Popular belief in Constantinople is that the war is nearing its conclusion, and the sultan's campaign will achieve its aims before the summer is over.

I've lived on the frontier with Moldavia for nearly all of my life. I know from experience that such glowing military reports are rarely as good as they seem. I've travelled through parts of Moldavia and seen the strong fortifications standing before the sultan's army. I rejoice in the news of the sultan's victories, but know he still faces considerable obstacles. The Moldavians only need to hold out until the winter snows arrive and the sultan will be forced to abandon his campaign.

The oath I gave Mihrimah and her mother to protect Mihrimah with my life has made me the subject of gossip and jokes throughout the harem. There was no chance of keeping my oath secret from the rest of the harem. Stories and rumours are spreading throughout the harem about how Mihrimah and I met. Nearly all of them are completely untrue. I've heeded Mihrimah's orders and I've outwardly ignored the snide remarks and taunting which some of the girls in the main harem make at my expense. Inwardly, some of the barbs leave me feeling angry and insecure. It's hard for me to resist wanting to take revenge on a couple of the more outspoken girls, but at least it helps me to identify which of the girls are a real threat. For the most part, the girls causing me trouble are relatively harmless. While I'm under Mihrimah's protection, only a girl with a death wish would risk violence. An unprovoked physical attack on me would be regarded as an assault on Mihrimah, resulting in the immediate execution of the offender. Nevertheless I'm careful while I'm walking along the deserted harem corridors at night.

Ayşe and Nira are my closest friends in the harem. They may believe me to be a fool for swearing to protect Mihrimah with my life, but they defend me against any harem girl who makes mischief at my expense. So far I've not been called on to do anything more dangerous than serve as one of Mihrimah's body slaves. I know, however, that the situation could change without warning.

With Sultan Suleiman away on his campaign in Moldavia, the running of the Ottoman Empire is left in the hands of the Grand Vizier, Ayas Mehmed Pasha. When I lived in Chilia, my father spoke of Mehmed Pasha with respect, although I believe father always preferred dealing with his predecessor, Pargali Ibrahim Pasha. But Pargali's ambitions and arrogance proved to be his downfall. Even his decades of close friendship with Sultan Suleiman couldn't protect Pargali from a traitor's death two years ago. It's a cautionary reminder to me about my developing friendship with Mihrimah. It can never be a friendship of equals, and I mustn't forget where the real power lies.

Mihrimah is now of a marriageable age and it's no secret that her mother, Hürrem, is considering likely candidates for a son-in-law. So far Mihrimah has objected to every candidate her mother has proposed. Not that I can blame Mihrimah. The youngest candidate to date is more than twice her age. Unfortunately it's a battle Mihrimah cannot win. The choice of her husband will be a political decision, supposedly for the sole purpose of strengthening the Ottoman dynasty's hold on power over it's diverse empire. However, I'm not so naïve about the murky world of Ottoman politics to fail to notice that all of the candidates are currently in government positions able to promote Hürrem's interests over those of Mahidevran Sultan.

Hürrem's matchmaking attempts to interest Mihrimah in one of her many suitors means that Mihrimah is required to make frequent visits into the city and beyond. Although she never travels outside the palace without an escort of Janissary guards, there are places and times where the presence of her male guards are inappropriate. In such cases, they are often standing guard just outside whichever room we are in. But sometimes the layout of the building means they are stationed further away. That's when I'm expected to fill the role of Mihrimah's secret bodyguard. Not that I carry any form of weapon, and the pretty clothing I'm expected to wear on these occasions isn't conducive to fighting a would-be assassin.

Mihrimah takes at least two of her maids with her when she visits people in the city. At first I thought Nisa and Ayşe would be jealous of me, since I'm always being summoned to attend. But I soon realise these visits aren't as exciting as they may first appear ... at least for a maid. Ayşe, Nisa and I usually spend most of the time standing in the corner of the room waiting patiently for the visit to end. It's not so bad in places shaded from the heat of the summer sun, but in others we risk being overcome by the heat.

Today we are visiting a new suitor for Mihrimah's hand in marriage. This one is a pasha who divorced his wife late last year. I'm surprised Hürrem and Mihrimah are even considering helping his blatant move for greater political power. Even meeting with Mihrimah today will provide him with some political gain.

One of the older women from the harem accompanies us to act as Mihrimah's chaperone. Traditionally the prospective bride and groom would not meet face to face before the wedding, with marriage negotiations handled by intermediaries. Mihrimah, however, insists on meeting her suitors in person, and Hürrem has reluctantly agreed.

The pasha's house is set deep in the countryside, about two hours coach ride from the palace. The house is old and rambling, and we are obliged to leave the Janissary guards some distance from the room our host guides us towards. When we pass through two iron reinforced doors, I realise that we have been escorted into the pasha's personal harem. It's an unusual place to hold a first meeting with a prospective bride, but not outside socially accepted practise. The harem consists of several connected rooms and seems to be home to about fifteen women and girls, all of whom are much younger than the pasha. Most of the women move into one of the other rooms when we arrive, and a curtain is drawn across to hide us from their view. Three girls about my age remain in the room and stand against one of the walls. Ayşe and I initially stand behind Mihrimah until she accepts the pasha's invitation to sit. We then move to stand next to the three girls.

"You have a remarkably large and well maintained harem for someone who lives so far from the city," remarks Mihrimah.

"Do you think so?" replies the pasha. "I've always believed that a man in my position should be able to enjoy the finer things in life. Like Sultan Suleiman, I have accumulated a plentiful supply of female company."

Mihrimah does a much better job than Ayşe at hiding her disbelief at the pasha's words. The man is talking to a princess of the Ottoman dynasty, not some backstreet brothel keeper. Surely the pasha must realise the likely consequences of his rudeness. I have an uneasy sense of danger, even though there is no visible threat. I glance towards the strong doors to the harem through which we entered. They have been closed, blocking any possible escape ... or rescue attempt by the Janissaries. Of course, they could have been closed simply to provide privacy ... but privacy from whom?

Ayşe brings her emotions under control and she resumes her silent pose. Her momentary lapse has distracted the pasha's three girls, and it allows me to change position so that I can reach Mihirimah quickly should the need arise. One of the pasha's girls tries to block my move but I quickly step to one side to retain my better position. The girl's subtle but deliberate move only heightens my sense of alarm. And yet I cannot see any obvious threat.

"If amusing yourself in a large harem are your interests, then why are you seeking my hand in marriage?" asks Mihrimah pointedly. "I'm not some concubine who you can sequester in your home. I have duties to perform on behalf of the Ottoman dynasty, and you cannot deny me my freedom of movement."

"I agree," concedes the pasha. "But nevertheless I am seeking your hand in marriage. We can reside in my city house if this place isn't to your liking."

The man must be a complete idiot if he thinks his proposal will meet with Mihrimah's approval. The discussions end shortly afterwards and it's only with the greatest of reluctance that Mihrimah accepts the pasha's offer of refreshments before we set out on our return journey to Constantinople. My feeling of unease remains and I deliberately stay close to Mihrimah. If Mihrimah senses my concern then she doesn't outwardly show it. My sense of duty means I miss out on the snacks provided for Ayşe and the pasha's three girls.

An hour later our party is assembled once more and we leave the pasha's house bound for Constantinople. We haven't travelled very far before Ayşe starts swaying as though she's about to pass out. A quick look into her eyes tells me that she's been drugged. It's not long before the chaperone and most of the Janissary guards succumb to the same ailment. Mihrimah and I remain unaffected, and fortunately so do three of the guards. We are forced to stop and tend to the sick.

"I'll send a man back to the pasha's house to summon a medic," says one of the unaffected guards.

"No," I reply, speaking out of turn. "The food the pasha provided was drugged. He is a party to whatever trickery is in play. We can't expect any help from him."

The guard looks to Mihrimah for orders, and she contemplates my unsolicited advice before agreeing with my assessment of the situation. It only takes a few moments to confirm that, apart from Mihrimah, those of us still standing didn't eat any of the offered food. In Mihrimah's case, she ate the same food as the pasha. While he might be willing to sacrifice three of his harem girls to the ruse, he's not likely to deliberately poison himself.

"We must do something," says Mihrimah. "They may die without medical help."

"I don't think so," I reply. "I've seen these symptoms before. A few hours of nausea and drowsiness are likely to be the worst they will suffer."

"Then why drug us at all?" asks Mihrimah.

"To disable us for long enough so that you can be captured and the rest of us killed. The pasha intends to kidnap you, my Sultana. We must get you to safety."

To the guards credit, they had already contemplated such an ambush, and two of them had readied their weapons and taken up positions to defend Mihrimah. The sound of several horses approaching from the direction of the house tells us we don't have much time.

We could stand and fight, but against a larger force we would stand little chance of holding them off. The senior guard orders Mihrimah into the coach with the comatose chaperone and Ayşe. Two of the guards stand on the running boards either side of the coach, so as to protect those inside from arrows. The third guard climbs onto the coach driver's seat, pushing the semi-conscious driver onto the coach roof. I'm all but ignored in the rush, and the coach doesn't wait for me. I mount one of the horses standing around its fallen rider. I grab the reigns of a couple of stray mounts as well and set off after the coach.

I soon catch up to the coach and it won't be long before our pursuers do so as well. It would have been better to have abandoned the coach and for all of us to take mounts instead. It was an unfortunate error by the guard, probably due to his failure to realise that Mihrimah is able to ride a horse. At least it means Ayşe, the chaperone and coach driver aren't abandoned to the fate of the stricken guards.

The sound of pursuit isn't far behind us by the time we reach the ford. Our success so far is probably due to our pursuers stopping to deal with those we were forced to abandon. I hope the guards haven't been killed, but I fear that may have been their fate.

The chances of the coach outrunning our pursuers are very slim. The senior guard must have realised this by the time the coach is across the ford. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem able to come up with a better plan.

"Let my Sultana and one other mount these horses and we'll travel downstream until we are clear of pursuit," I call. "The rest of you continue along the road as far as you can."

It's a risky plan but better than the one we are following. Mihrimah decides she's in favour of my suggestion and she orders the guards to comply. The third horse is taken by Ayşe, who has fortunately regained consciousness. The senior guard wants to send one of his men with us instead of Ayşe, but one extra guard isn't going to save us if we are caught. It is far better for the coach to be defended to the best of our ability in order to delay any pursuit of our pursuers' true prey.

We don't waste any more time than strictly necessary. Our pursuers can't be more than a couple of minutes behind us. We don't immediately turn away from the others, so as to leave tracks in the muddy road around the river suggesting we are all together. Once we reach harder ground, Mihrimah, Ayşe and I turn off the road and head into the woods. The coach stops long enough for the guards to disguise our tracks near the road.

It's a frightening gallop through untamed territory, even though Constantinople is little more than an hour's ride away. Our plan succeeds, however, and we finally reach the safety of a village. A message is delivered to the palace and a full regiment of Janissaries sent to retrieve us. The pasha must have realised his plot had failed when his men overtook our coach. We'll never know whether he then came looking for us, or whether he fled straight away. Either way his house and harem have been confiscated and a sizeable price placed on the pasha's head.

As for me, I'm just glad the three of us made it safely back to the Imperial Harem. However, I wish Ayşe would stop telling the other girls how I commanded a squad of Janissaries and effectively saved Mihrimah's life. Mihrimah herself is more circumspect in her show of appreciation, but I'm now the proud owner of a beautiful gold bracelet.


	6. Secret meetings

6\. Secret meetings

Constantinople, September/October 1538.

There is an initial flurry of activity following the failed attempt to kidnap Mihrimah. But then the harem settles down to its usual routine. The incident is far from forgotten, though. In addition to the search for the fleeing pasha, Hürrem has the agas conduct an investigation into how the pasha had succeeded in luring Mihrimah to his remote estate in the first place. Despite my secret role as Mihrimah's bodyguard, I don't get to hear about the outcome of either investigation. However, one consequence of the failed kidnapping attempt is that the search for a suitable husband for Mihrimah is to be temporarily suspended ... at least until Sultan Suleiman returns from his campaign in Moldavia. Something which delights Mihrimah, even though she knows it's only a short term reprieve.

Now my greatest concern for Mihrimah's safety is that she is using the lull in her previously busy schedule to arrange personal meetings of her own. Meetings which are kept secret from her mother. I don't know what game Mihrimah is playing, but keeping secrets from Hürrem is very risky. Hürrem's network of spies within the harem is second to none. Despite my misgivings, my first loyalty is to Mihrimah, so I don't betray her plans to her mother.

At least Mihrimah has the good sense to include me as one of the two maids who always accompany her to these meetings. At first, I don't understand the reason for her meetings, which outwardly appear to be a sudden desire to sponsor a number of poets and writers. If that was Mihrimah's sole purpose for these meetings then there would be no need to keep them secret from Hürrem. Sponsorship of the arts is one of the many charitable works traditionally expected of the wealthy, and Hürrem has encouraged Mihrimah to take up worthy causes ever since Mihrimah has been old enough to receive her own income from the dynasty's coffers.

By the third week of these almost daily meetings I notice that one particular poet is always in attendance, whereas few of the others attend more than one meeting a week. The young poet in question is called Yahya, and from overheard conversation I gather he's a close friend of Mahidevran Sultan's son, Mustafa. My initial suspicion is that Mihrimah is trying to establish a spy within Mahidevran's camp. But I soon dismiss that idea when I realise the reason for her interest in Yahya is much more basic. She's besotted by the young man. A sentiment he seems to return, although I cannot dismiss the possibility that he's using his charms to wheedle more money out of Mihrimah. Fortunately I don't sense any physical danger to Mihrimah from this liaison, although I think she's being very foolish given her position within the Ottoman dynasty.

Keeping these meetings secret from Hürrem for any length of time was a forlorn hope. The unannounced entry of Hürrem into Mihrimah's room is the first any of us is aware that Mihrimah's secret meetings have come Hürrem's attention. Ayşe and Nira make a hasty exit into our small room. I'm about to do the same but Mihrimah orders me to stay.

"Good morning, mother," says Mihrimah. "Is there something troubling you on this fine day?"

I'll give Mihrimah full marks for keeping a cool head. Her reply momentarily throws Hürrem out of her stride. But only for a moment.

"Explain the purpose meetings you've been holding with all these writers and poets?" fumes Hürrem.

"I decided to sponsor the arts, mother. Isn't that what you've been encouraging me to do?"

"Sponsor them by all means, but holding daily meetings with them is going to excess. Any one of them could be a potential kidnapper or assassin."

"The guards at the gate check all visitors for weapons, and I have Nilüfer with me at all the meetings. I can't hide away in the harem forever."

"Then why the secrecy? Why have you not told me about this before? Do you think I like being told about my daughter's activities by one of Mahidevran's toadies?"

"I really didn't think it that important to trouble you with my plans," replies Mihrimah, not the least bit intimidated by Hürrem's tirade. "Besides, you know whoever told you was just trying to stir up mischief."

"Perhaps, but next time think to mention anything like this to me first. For your information, one of your literary admirers is connected to Mahidevran."

"You mean Yahya. The young poet. He's a good friend of Mustafa, but I don't think he's that close to Mahidevran."

"Mustafa may be your half-brother, Mihrimah, but he's loyal to his mother, so tread carefully. Besides, I believe this poet has been to every one of your meetings."

"Yes. I think Nilüfer's charms have captured the poor boy's heart."

I quickly hide my shock at Mihrimah's blatant lie. It's her own charms which have captured Yahya's heart ... and his has caught hers in return. I shift uneasily as Hürrem turns her attention to me. My lowly position and my loyalty to Mihrimah means I dare not correct Mihrimah's lie.

"And are these feelings reciprocated?" asks Hürrem of me.

"Yes," replies Mihrimah, before I can answer. "Nilüfer is quite taken by him, although she'll never admit it."

I shift awkwardly where I stand while Hürrem thinks for a moment.

"There may be some benefit in developing this relationship further. Having an extra pair of eyes and ears monitoring what Mahidevran is plotting won't do any harm. We should take advantage of this situation. Have Nilüfer encourage the boy's attentions. Allow them to meet alone occasionally. Have you been trained as a concubine, Nilüfer?"

"Err, no, my sultana. When I arrived in the harem my lessons omitted training in the sexual arts," I reply, feeling very awkward at the turn of this conversation.

"That's something that must be addressed promptly. You're to attend the lessons you missed as soon as possible. I'll get one of the agas to arrange it."

Hürrem leaves the room in a much happier mood than when she arrived. Mihrimah is also delighted. I don't need to ask why. My supposed affections for Yahya will merely be a cover for the assignations Mihrimah obviously plans to have with Yahya. I don't really like being used like this, but I don't have any option.

When Hürrem decides something is to happen, then it happens quickly. The next morning I'm told the schedule of lessons I'm to attend. It means Mihrimah must rearrange some of her meetings with the writers and poets. Nira tells me later that Mihrimah and Yahya met briefly while I was attending one of my lessons. I presume the meeting was to enable Mihrimah to brief Yahya on her scheme.

My lessons are completed in about a tenth of the time normally allowed for the programme. While the urgency of my training means I have had minimal time to practise, at least I feel as though I understand the subject. I never realised that concubinage required that level of training. I suppose that being from the Imperial Harem, I'm expected to show a much greater level of proficiency in the sexual arts than otherwise. I feel a little disappointed that I'm not going to be able to put my newly acquired skills into practise in the foreseeable future.

Now that the agas decide that I'm trained as a concubine, Mihrimah doesn't waste time in arranging for my first fake meeting with Yahya. Her plan has the benefit of simplicity. I'm to meet Yahya in the palace grounds, but instead of he and I disappearing into the nearby bushes, I'm to stand guard while Mihrimah and Yahya have their tryst.

To some extent I feel a twinge of jealousy. Yahya is good looking, and he must know that any liaison with Mihrimah is going to be short lived. A relationship with me, as Hürrem wants, would have better long term prospects. Until now I hadn't given much thought to my own sexual desires. My recent training has forced me to evaluate my own feelings on the subject, which aren't as passive as I had previously believed. Not that any of this is likely to get me nearer to satisfying my mounting urges.

Mihrimah has the sense to keep her tryst brief. She could be missed at any time, and Hürrem made it clear that Mihrimah wasn't to leave the protection of the harem while I was otherwise occupied. While Ayşe and Nira can be trusted to keep Mihrimah's secret, they're unable to cover for her absence for ever. Even if Hürrem fails to notice Mihrimah's movements, I'm sure one of Mahidevran's many supporters will find out before long.

Surprisingly, these trysts continue for a couple of weeks without any mishap. It's Ayşe who discovers the reason for our unexpected good fortune. One of the girls who is friendly with Ayşe overhears a conversation in the harem to the effect that Mahidevran's supporters are fully aware of Mihrimah's dalliances with Yahya, but have been ordered to say nothing. This may be to cause greater embarrassment to Mihrimah at a later date, or, as seems more likely, Mahidevran is using Yahya to spy on Hürrem's activities, just as Hürrem is wanting to do in reverse. My own observations suggest that neither Mihrimah nor Yahya will make good spies since they are too besotted with each other. Nevertheless I insist that Ayşe tells Mihrimah what she has learned, which she does that evening. Fortunately Mihrimah isn't so helplessly in love that she refuses to do what is necessary. She is alert to the danger she faces, although I suspect it doesn't diminish her ardour for the young poet.

"Tomorrow, you are to explain to Yahya why I can't meet with him for a while," begins Mihrimah when she and I are alone. "You are to seduce him as my mother ordered and to continue meeting with him regularly."

"What if he doesn't agree to continue meeting with me, my sultana?" I ask.

"He will understand the need for the subterfuge," she replies. "You shall convey messages between us."

"And how should I respond if he makes advances towards me?" I ask nervously. I can hardly seduce him without risking some amorous response in return.

"Your actions have my mother's and my protection, but remember you are the property of Sultan Suleiman."

Without answering my question directly, Mihrimah is reminding me that my virginity may only be claimed by the sultan or in accordance with his direct orders. I may be Mihrimah's maid, but my father gifted me to the sultan. Mihrimah is allowing me freedom to do what I think is necessary as long as I don't go too far. The consequence of disobedience doesn't bear thinking about. The next afternoon I'm given the first chance to put my newly acquired skills into practise.

"My sultana is unable to meet with you like this for a while," I say to Yahya when we meet. "She has given me this letter to give to you."

He reads the letter and looks at me. "Do you know what this letter says?" he asks.

"No, Effendi," I reply, remembering to use the correct form of address to a free man without noble rank. "She instructed that I deliver this letter and to entertain you if you so wish. But only if you find me desirable."

It's not exactly what Mihrimah instructed, but I'm anxious to know whether Yahya merely intends to use me as a substitute for Mihrimah, or whether he is attracted to me in my own right. Of course, he may simply walk away, and that will be the end of the matter. Somehow, though, I think he's hooked by the prospect of further letters and a possible future tryst with Mihrimah ... not to mention the money in sponsorship. Of course, if he's a spy, then he'll play along regardless.

"And do you consent to me using you in this way?" he asks. "You know to whom my heart belongs."

"I am aware of your feelings for my sultana, but I also know that it is possible to love more than one person. Although my sultana has instructed me to be here, I have not come against my will. I am happy to be with you and entertain you as desire. My sultana's love for you is likely to be an unsustainable goal. Perhaps I can offer a more realistic liaison."

I reflect on the answer I've given him. Part of it is a derived from my training, but I'm also starting to probe whether Yahya's interest in Mihrimah is genuine, or whether he's a clever spy sent to infiltrate Hürrem Sultan's inner circle. Part of my answer, though, is driven by my sexual urges which have been stoked by the intimate nature of my recent lessons. I might be years before I get another chance at any form of intimate liaison with a man, so I'm not going to pass on the opportunity currently before me.

Any lingering thoughts that I may be betraying Mihrimah are dismissed when Yahya accepts the offer I've made and guides me to the bench where he and Mihrimah have regularly sat. His hand touches mine and I feel as though I've entered a new world.


	7. Love notes

7\. Love notes

My first tryst with Yahya is something which will remain in my memory for a long time. Our meeting didn't last for more than fifteen minutes, and for most of that time Yahya simply recited a poem while he held my hand. I can't say that the poem excited me very much, since it was obviously written for Mihrimah. But having my hand held by a good looking man, and our parting kiss was something which is memorable. What is more important is that Yahya has agreed that we are to meet again. Not just to simply exchange love notes between Mihrimah and he, but to spend a few minutes with me.

Whether or not his interest in being with me is simply a ruse to gain information about Hürrem Sultan remains to be seen. His affection for Mihrimah seems genuine enough, but I lack the experience to know how he truly feels about me. Unsurprisingly, Mihrimah requires a full description of my meeting with Yahya as soon as I return to our rooms. I sense a hint of jealousy in her questioning and I could lie to save her feelings. But I doubt I could maintain a lie consistently for any length of time. Consequently, I decide that telling her the truth without any emotional inflection is probably the safest path. Only time will tell whether I have chosen wisely.

"Did he give you a message to give to me?" asks Mihrimah.

"Only that next time he will have both a letter and a poem dedicated to you for me to deliver," I reply.

Later, when I'm standing patiently at the side of the room while Mihrimah entertains her younger brothers, I have time to reflect on my meeting with Yahya. I'm still uncertain about his true motives. My next meeting with him is the day after tomorrow, so I have time to consider what questions I should ask of him.

The appointed time arrives and Mihrimah hands me a letter to give to Yahya. I don't need her reminder that the letter mustn't fall into the wrong hands. I just hope she realises that Yahya might not be so discreet if his true motives are less than honourable. I don't know what she has written, but she is placing a lot of trust in Yahya. Fortunately Mihrimah doesn't command me to hand the letter to Yahya as soon as I meet him. It will give me a chance to test his sincerity.

Yahya is a lot more attentive during our second meeting. He's even prepared a poem for and about me, although he refuses to give me a copy. I almost forget to ask him my questions as his roving hands start to heighten my desire. If I thought my first tryst with him was memorable, then the second is sublime. Even his answers to my questions eases some of my concerns about his motives, although I admit that my arousal influences my opinion.

Immediately afterwards I return to Mihrimah and hand over the promised letter and poem from Yahya. As expected, Mihrimah probes for details about our meeting. I answer truthfully while omitting some of the more intimate details. Mihrimah seems satisfied with the outcome and goes into her private room to read what Yahya has sent.

Needless to say, a third meeting is arranged, although nearly a week passes before I'm again told to meet with Yahya. Mihrimah isn't the only one looking forward to my meeting with Yahya. To my surprise, Mihrimah hands me her emerald ring as I'm about to leave to meet him.

"Yahya asked in his last letter that I let him touch my ring as a symbol of our love for each other," says Mihrimah. "You are to wear my ring and allow him to touch it."

I have reservations about doing this. By all accounts Yahya is an impoverished poet from Manisa. His once wealthy family have fallen upon hard times. By his own admission, his friendship with Şehzade Mustafa is only relatively recent, so Yahya's trustworthiness is still open to doubt. He might be tempted to try and take Mihrimah's ring and disappear. My concerns dampen my previously exuberant mood.

"Greetings, my lovely concubine," says Yahya as I approach. "I hope my week long absence hasn't made you or your mistress doubt my affections. I trust you are both in good health."

"My sultana and I are well, thank you, Effendi," I reply.

"Yahya ... you must call me Yahya when we are alone," he replies. "Ah! I see you wear my beloved Mihrimah's ring, just as I asked. Does she truly love me?"

"I believe my sultana's affections for you are as strong as always," I reply.

"And are your affections for me as strong, my lovely girl?"

"I have looked forward to this meeting with eagerness," I reply evasively. I still have a niggling doubt about Yahya's sincerity and trustworthiness.

"Come here and let me take a good look at you," says Yahya.

I move towards him and he embraces me in his arms. I'm surprised by his actions. Normally we sit and talk for a while. He kisses me. Gently at first, but then with more passion. My own emotions cause me to drop my guard and I don't notice a woman approach until she is virtually standing next to us.

"Don't worry, my pretty. This is Nur, an acquaintance of mine. She means you no harm."

"What is going on?" I demand, forgetting my place as a lowly slave.

From their demeanour I can tell Yahya and Nur aren't friends. Nur's style of dress suggests that's she's not from Constantinople. She has the appearance of the wife of a merchant or moneylender.

"Allow Nur to examine the ring on your finger. She is an expert in assessing the value of jewels and a brief look is all that she requires."

"No," I reply, breaking free of Yahya's hold on me.

"Oh, but you will, my dear Nilüfer," replies Yahya, abandoning all pretence of romantic intentions. "I regret what is to happen, as I truly love your mistress. But unfortunately my family have substantial debts. Debts which your mistress is able to help me repay."

"You want to steal my sultana's ring?" I ask incredulously. They must know that the theft of such a unique jewel from the palace would result in an immediate search by the Janissaries and the execution of the thieves. The chances of Yahya and his accomplice getting away with the jewel are negligible.

"I don't intend to steal it. Your mistress will give it to me as a gift. In exchange I will guarantee that her letters to me won't fall into the wrong hands and cause her or her parents any embarrassment."

"And what guarantee does my sultana have that you'll keep your end of the bargain? The letters must be returned to her before any deal can be struck."

"No, no," laughs Yahya. "I shall hold onto the letters as surety for my continued good health."

"Then there is no deal," I reply. "The Ottoman dynasty has only one answer to blackmailers. Your lives are forfeit the moment either of you touch this ring."

"Such ferocity from a harem slave girl," muses Nur. "Just take her and lets get out of here. They'll think she's run off with the jewel and waste their time looking for her. By the time they find her, we'll be long gone."

"The Janissaries at the gate will stop you," I reply, playing for time. "My face is known to the guards."

"If we try to leave by the main gate then I'm sure that you are right," replies Nur. "But there's a secret way into the palace grounds and we shall be leaving by that route."

Yahya moves towards me and I quickly run into the nearby trees. I know I can't outrun him and I'm too far from the palace buildings for a cry for help to be heard. Besides, I don't want them to escape, with or without me. If they get away then they'll try again to use Mihrimah's letters against her.

My seemingly haphazard route through the trees is a ruse. I am not totally unprepared for what has happened. My initial concerns for Mihrimah's safety when she started meeting with Yahya meant I prepared and hid a stout staff near to where I waited. I risked severe punishment for doing so, since girls of the harem are forbidden to carry weapons of any description. I grab the staff as I pass the tree where it is hidden. I suddenly turn to face my two pursuers. Yahya is only a few metres from me, although Nur is some distance behind. I should have guessed that since Nur entered the palace grounds secretly then she also smuggled in weapons as well. Yahya holds a short sword and the look of desperation on his face warns me that he wouldn't hesitate to use it. He doesn't stop when he sees my staff. Once again I'm facing an opponent who underestimates the potency of a stout staff in skilled hands. I quickly have him down on the ground and nursing a sore head. I turn my attentions to Nur who decides against trying to fight me. She tries to flee but I can easily outrun her. I soon overhaul her and have her at my mercy.

My problem now is what to do with my two captives. Yahya isn't going anywhere in a hurry, and I have Nur safely bound with the rope she had intended to use on me. But fetching help isn't going to be a very good solution. Firstly the whole story of what has happened comes down to their word against mine. They could claim that I'm a thief and they tried to prevent me from trying to run off with Mihrimah's ring. The fact that I had a weapon is a black mark against me. Only Nur's unauthorised presence in the palace grounds will give any credence to my version of events. Even so, the word of a free woman carries greater weight than those of a slave. Besides, Mihrimah's letters are still a threat against her. As soon as I call the guards then the whole matter becomes common knowledge. I doubt Hürrem will be pleased when she hears her cunning plan has exploded in everyone's face. And to add to my troubles, I don't have much time before my absence will be noticed.

"Where are my sultana's letters?" I demand of a semi-conscious Yahya.

"Nur is holding them as security for my family's debt," replies Yahya.

"Where are the letters?" I ask Nur. She refuses to answer.

"If you want to live beyond today, then I suggest you cooperate," I demand. "Hand Mihrimah Sultan's letters over to me and I'll let you and this pathetic boy go free."

"And how do we know we can trust you?" sneers Nur.

"You don't. But you have a choice. Handover the letters and take a chance that I'll honour my word, or face certain execution."

I just hope Nur doesn't call my bluff. If she's clever she'll spot the weakness in my situation. Fortunately she isn't the smartest of crooks, and she agrees to my demands.

"I don't have the letters on me," says Nur. "But they're hidden nearby."

"Let's go then," I reply, untying her bonds. "Help Yahya up and let's get going."

Nur ends up carrying the moaning Yahya towards the hidden entrance to the palace grounds. I follow a few paces behind. I don't see the tiny door through the wall until we are almost upon it. It's well hidden by the abundant growth around it. The reason for its existence is unclear. Perhaps a previous occupant of the palace had it built as a secret route into the city. I wonder how many people know of its existence.

Nur stops before the secret door and reaches into a nearby pile of stones. She produces Mihrimah's letters from a box hidden among the stones. Perhaps she's smarter than I thought if she chose to hide her treasure inside the palace grounds. It would be the last place anybody would think of searching for Mihrimah's letters. I check the letters aren't simply copies, and I'm relieved to find that they are the originals.

"Okay. You can go. I suggest you both leave Constantinople at once. I can't guarantee my sultana will be as forgiving as I."

Nur and the injured Yahya leave through the hidden entrance while I dash back to the harem. I'm well overdue, and I can't be certain a search party hasn't already be sent out to find me. When I arrive back in our rooms, I'm relieved to see that despite Mihrimah's concern about my late return, she hasn't summoned the agas to search for me. She sends Ayşe and Nira on an errand while she listens to what I have to say.

I hand back her ring and letters and tell her that Yahya was intending to use the letters to blackmail her. I tell her a version of the truth which omits mention of Nur or the secret entrance to the grounds. Despite the closeness of our relationship, I'm not certain she will approve of what I have done, even though it was for her benefit. I don't like lying to her, but I'm afraid of what might happen to me if the whole truth comes out.

"I'll have Yahya arrested and boiled in oil," fumes Mihrimah.

"That might not be wise, my sultana," I reply. "If Yahya is arrested then your involvement with him might become public knowledge. Even without proof, the damage to your reputation would be harmful."

"I suppose you are right," sighs Mihrimah. "It seems I yet again owe you a reward for saving me."


	8. A surprise gift

8\. A surprise gift

Constantinople, December 1538

News arrived today informing us that Sultan Suleiman's campaign in Moldavia has come to a triumphant end. On the political front, the Ottoman Empire has acquired new territory, and Moldavia has a new king. One who will hopefully remain loyal to the empire. If all goes well, then it means an end to the cross-border raids and unrest which have plagued my home town of Chilia for over two years. Even though I know I'm never likely to see Chilia nor my family again, I often think about them.

While I feel relieved at the news, Mihrimah is downhearted about what her father's return to Constantinople is going to mean. His return will almost certainly be the signal for a fresh round of matchmaking by Hürrem. Mihrimah's brief respite from vetting prospective husbands is likely to soon be over. Fortunately the preparations for the celebrations which will greet the triumphant sultan's army are keeping everyone busy, so Mihrimah doesn't have much time to mope. It goes without saying that if Mihrimah is kept busy, then Nisa, Ayşe and I are rushed off our feet. I only manage to snatch a few hours sleep for several days. It's only the intervention of Hürrem, who orders us all to stop and rest for a while, which saves us from total exhaustion.

Despite her almost disastrous liaison with Yahya, Mihrimah keeps up her sponsorship of a group of local poets and artists. I don't know if this is a subterfuge to divert Hürrem's attention away from matchmaking, or whether Mihrimah has a genuine interest in the artists' work. I'm always in attendance as Mihrimah's secret bodyguard when she meets with the artists. Thankfully, nothing happens to cause either of us any concern. Discreet enquiries confirm that both Yahya and Nur have left Constantinople, although nobody seems to know where they've gone.

Many of Mihrimah's aunts and cousins are using the upcoming celebrations as a reason to visit the Imperial Palace. Some of them haven't left their home provinces for several years, and preparing for their arrival is a big chore. None of them will be travelling with less than three female servants, all of whom must be accommodated somewhere within the harem. Before long all the suites in the royal wing are occupied, and the more distant relations of the sultan are forced to content themselves with the rooms normally allocated to the sultan's favourites. Fortunately many of those rooms are empty these days. Sultan Suleiman only has eyes for Hürrem, and she has made sure any potential rival is quickly transferred to one of the remote palaces before the rival comes to the sultan's attention.

Not every guest is happy with the housing arrangements, and before long tensions start to run high. The kalfas do their best to satisfy each sultana's needs, but it's a thankless task. Being in overall charge of the Imperial Harem, Hürrem is overwhelmed by the constant flow of problems to solve. She enlists Mihrimah's help, which of course means Nisa, Ayşe and I become involved.

"The rooms you have assigned to me are simply not good enough," complains Esmehan Sultan, daughter of one of Sultan Suleiman's sisters, and a girl not much older than Mihrimah. "I require a suite in the royal wing. Arrange it at once or Sultan Suleiman shall hear this insult."

Had Esmehan Sultan's words been spoken to me, then I would have had to apologize and make what efforts I could to comply with the sultana's wishes, even though I knew it would be fruitless exercise. But her words were addressed directly to Mihrimah and Hürrem. Given their respective positions within the dynasty, Esmehan's arrogance is ill-advised. Esmehan, like her mother, regards Hürrem as an uneducated usurper of lowly birth, and neither mother nor daughter pass on the opportunity to try and embarrass Hürrem. I don't know what Esmehan Sultan is hoping to achieve, but she is goading Hürrem into anger. If that is Esmehan's aim, then she appears to be succeeding.

"The only unallocated suites are in the royal wing of the old palace," replies Hürrem, suddenly regaining her composure as though a brilliant idea has just struck her. "They haven't been used for several years, but I'm sure they can soon be made ready. If you wish to be moved there, then I'll be happy to allocate a suite for you."

Although most of the Imperial Harem is housed in the new palace these days, parts of the harem in the old palace are still used. Most of its residents are women who, for various reasons, are no longer required to perform duties in the new palace. They include the infirm and the elderly, as well as those who have been sent there as a punishment for some misdemeanour. The agas enforce the rules of the Imperial Harem without mercy, and those inclined to be disobedient or cause trouble run the risk of temporary or permanent exile to the old palace. Generally, no woman volunteers to be transferred to the old palace, although it is a better fate than being transferred to one of the remote Ottoman palaces scattered around the empire. Esmehan Sultan storms out of the room without bothering to answer Hürrem's offer.

"If we have many more relatives suddenly arriving on our doorstep, then we may need to use the suites in the old palace," says Hürrem to Mihrimah. "The kitchens and laundry here in the new palace are already working at full capacity servicing those already here. A further eight sultanas and their maids are expected in the next few days ... and they are just the ones we know about. Your cousin Esmehan isn't the only one to simply arrive without any prior warning."

"Do you want me to check the suites in the old palace?" asks Mihrimah. "As you said to Esmehan, they haven't been used for several years. I wouldn't mind seeing my old room once again. I've almost forgotten what it looks like."

"You were only nine years old when you last stayed in our suite in the old palace," laughs Hürrem. "I'm surprised that you remember it at all. The agas at the old palace should have been keeping the suites ready for use, but it wouldn't do any harm for them to be checked. Very well. But take Nilüfer with you. Some of those living in the old palace might use your visit to start trouble."

Hürrem doesn't elaborate on the type of trouble she anticipates. I only know of one girl transferred to the old palace as a punishment since my arrival, and she would have more to lose than gain by causing trouble in the old palace. But I take note of Hürrem's concern, even though Mihrimah seems quick to dismiss her mother's worries.

Early the next morning Mihrimah, Ayşe and I arrive at the old palace. It's my first visit to the old palace and the splendour takes my breath away. Several girls have told me stories of life in the harem of the old palace, which is attached to the side of main building. The old palace is a few hundred years older than the new one and is built in a much different style. Despite several additions over the years, the old palace is a lot smaller than the new one, which is why the gradual move to the new palace became necessary. The expanding empire requires more and more officials to run it, and a larger harem to house the increasing number of daughters gifted to the sultan by fathers wishing to prove their loyalty. My own father being one such example.

I'm momentarily distracted by the view and my thoughts. Consequently I don't notice two agas quickly approaching us until almost too late. Had they been assassins, then I would have almost certainly failed in my duty to protect Mihrimah. I reproach myself for my inattention and belatedly focus on the two agas. They seem agitated, as though our visit has caught them doing something they shouldn't be doing.

"My Sultana!" greets one of the agas in a voice bordering on alarm. "Welcome. My apologies, but we weren't warned about your visit. Would you care for some refreshments?"

"We will take refreshments later," replies Mihrimah, becoming suspicious of the agas concern about our visit. "You will accompany us on our inspection of the harem."

If it had been Mihrimah's intention to confine her inspection to the rooms in the royal wing, then the nervous behaviour of the two agas promptly changes her plans. What started out as a quick visit is now likely to take most of day. Mihrimah takes her time and is very thorough in her review, despite the subtle attempts by the agas to hurry inspection. At odds with the agas behaviour, the women in the harem are much more friendly in their greeting of Mihrimah. I suspect it is many months since a senior member of the dynasty has visited the old palace harem, and Mihrimah's visit is causing some excitement.

The main harem is not as clean, nor as well maintained, as the one in the new palace, but Mihrimah doesn't feel it necessary to comment to the agas. Whatever is causing the agas to become agitated doesn't seem to be anything in the main harem. The kitchens, store rooms and training rooms all pass inspection. The agas make more blatant attempts to divert our inspection away from the rooms designated for the infirmary. They don't dare to block Mihrimah's way, but there is clearly something in the infirmary which they want to keep a secret.

There have been no reports of any dangerous contagious diseases in the harem since long before my arrival in Constantinople. Such things have been known to decimate harems in the past, and is one of the reasons for the strict rules around cleanliness inside the harem. The agas would risk execution if they've failed to disclose the spread of a dangerous disease.

There are six patients currently resident in the infirmary. Four are suffering from injuries or ailments which the woman healer assures Mihrimah are not life threatening and the patient simply needs time to recover. The condition of the other two patients are of greater interest. Not because of their health, which seems to be excellent. Both are young women about 18 or 19 years of age. Both are pregnant and are nearly full term. This should be an impossible situation. As the sultan's slaves, only Sultan Suleiman would have the right to father their child. Either his devotion to Hürrem isn't as strong as everyone believes, or these two young women have been with another man.

That the two women weren't banished from the harem as soon as their pregnancy was discovered speaks volumes. Despite the agas' watchful eyes, opportunities for secret liaisons exist. Usually between a girl and one of the Janissary guards, or a male palace servant. It's a stupid risk but sometimes passion overrides common sense. Upon discovery, the man is usually executed, and the pregnant girl thrown out of the harem in disgrace. These two women are still in the harem, which means they each must carry a child of Ottoman blood. Not necessarily fathered by the sultan, but someone with strong family ties. Prince Mustafa, perhaps.

"Who is the father of your child?" demands Mihrimah of one of the pregnant women.

"I am forbidden from saying, my sultana," whimpers the woman, clearly terrified of Mihrimah's interest in her plight.

"My sultana," intervenes the healer. "Please do not distress Beyhan and Afife so close to their time. Sultan Suleiman is aware of their circumstances. It is on his orders that they reside here in the old palace harem."

"Are these the only two in this situation?" asks Mihrimah of the agas and healer.

"No, my sultana," replies one of the agas. "There are two others, but they are several weeks away from giving birth, so they still reside in one of the favourites' rooms."

"I shall discuss this situation with my mother," replies Mihrimah.

"No!" cries one of the pregnant women. "Please, my sultana. Don't inform Hürrem Sultan until Sultan Suleiman returns. Please let him be the one to inform your mother."

Terror has made the woman bold enough to speak to Mihrimah in this way. She risks terrible punishment for making such demands. Fortunately, Mihrimah has enough presence of mind not to inflame the situation. She doesn't reply to the woman, but I can tell from her manner that she is inclined to wait until her father returns. If Sultan Suleiman is the father of these soon-to-be-born children then Mihrimah knows her mother well enough not to want to be the messenger of such news to Hürrem.

With the immediate excitement over, Mihrimah resumes her tour. By comparison to the events in the infirmary, the inspection of the royal wing proves to be uneventful. Even the visit to Mihrimah's old suite only raises mild interest. As expected, all of the suites could be made ready for use in a matter of hours. This is what Mihrimah reports back to her mother. She makes no mention of pregnant women residing in the old palace. Only time will tell if that is the right decision. Sultan Suleiman might be returning to a surprise gift or two. Gifts which might not be welcomed by all concerned.


End file.
